


Contrition

by Shakana



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Backstory, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakana/pseuds/Shakana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halfway down the brick path she realized two things: one, the leather she'd been gripping had belonged to Kellogg approximately 20 days prior. Two, a piece of the man's brain was still in her pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrition

Amari’s eyes filled with a barely concealed sympathy. The doctor spoke slowly, quietly, like a mother soothing her child - like the way she used to coo at Shaun before nap time. The Memory Den's basement seemed to constrict around her, a trap itching to snap shut, and words poured from her mouth in a grumbled excess. Sea. Virgil. RadAway. Institute. Got it.

Her skin felt like it was shrinking around her bones, pulled taut, every emotion cracking the plaster. Kellogg’s voice ringing in her ears - the thud of fists on doors, Nate screaming. Shaun's fiery hair, glowing in the shack light. The smell of ozone and black leather. Her limbs felt like weights pulling her down down down beneath the mold and dust and rot -

“Thank you, for your help. We'll be back if - If anything new comes up.” Jordan breathed out, rushed, stiffened. She didn't wait for a reply before turning sharply and moving up the stairs. Nick was waiting for her in the dimly lit lobby, reclined on one of the plush couches. Seeing him loosened something in her heart. She hated that he'd become such a safety net to her - a constant factor. Since leaving 111 nothing had given her more peace than the Synth’s all too familiar voice. An accent her mother had possessed, in excess, and spent years concealing with “posh” linguistic exercises.

But whatever comfort he brought her in that moment seemed to shrivel almost as soon as it'd sparked. He rose to greet her, mouth already opening to go over the newest clues when her hand flung up, cutting him off.

Her eyes flickered rapidly to his own glowing orbs. “Let's talk later, okay? At the Rail. I'll meet you there.” The words sounded punched-out, even to her own ears, and it only made her feel worse. Again, she brushed past and slipped through the door.

Goodneighbor air filled her lungs with a chilled burn. Lights flared into her field of sight, the world too bright despite the late hour. It was the dead of night; Winds thrashing through Pre-War buildings and building the ominous wail of rusting metal. Her hands moved, instinctively, to hug her jacket closer. Her fingertips dug into the leather as she walked down the street and into an alley. Dangerous, but her gun was only a hare’s breath away. Halfway down the brick walkway she realized two things: one, the leather she'd been gripping belonged to Kellogg approximately 20 days prior. Two, a piece of the man's brain was still in her pocket.

The man whose life she'd sprinted through like a virus.

She twisted, heart rate spiking with adrenaline as she struggled to rip off the offending article. She felt the wet spot where she'd placed the cybernetic component while talking to Amari, blood seeping through the inner pocket at last. Her breathing sped to her pulse - quick shallow breaths that never seemed like enough. She couldn't get the damn thing off, the tight fabric bunched around her elbow - more panic. Her back hit the alley wall and she waved the arm, hitting the wall, feeling too big and too small all at once.

It felt like it was clawing into her, too much all at once in a sensory overload that left her already-sore brain buzzing. Then, firmly, another hand enclosed over her flailing wrist. Another weight, crushing, smothering, only made things worse and she fought against it, yanking her arm back. They both fell, her head hitting the alley wall softly. Through the blood in her ears she heard a pained grunt, then the grip tightened. A minute later she felt the jacket being worked from her arm.

As soon as it dropped to the ground she snapped everything back to herself and curled. Knees brought to her chest, head ducked between. Her eyes were firmly shut as she finally, barely, managed to drag in a full breath. Feeling returned to her fingers and toes.

Nick's flesh hand rested over the nape of her neck, a gentle reminder. He crouched beside her while she shuddered, feeling raw in ways she hasn't felt since Nate died. It poured out in a steady stream; the agony, loneliness - everything that had been building up. Everything she’d worked to conceal since leaving the Vault. She couldn't even shield herself with anger, anymore. Not after seeing what she did. How could she hate a man who'd been torn down just as much as she?

A sob escaped. Low, broken, the kind of thing she remembered hearing after a tough case in court. Nick moved closer, thumb rubbing circles into her neck. His skin felt worn like leather.

“Hey now, you're okay. You're alright, just breathe in and out. Can you do that?” He murmured. Concern was there, but it was the sympathy that felt like sandpaper to her.

“Don't patronize me, Nick. I’m not one of your customers.” She spat, but the words felt empty. She sniffed and buried her head deeper between her legs. “I'm sorry. I'm okay just - just give me a minute. Please.”

He kept the touches light, giving her room. “You just relived a traumatic experience in about ten different perspectives, take more than a minute. You can't just keep shrugging this stuff off - no one could.”

She didn't answer. Everything still felt too small, too tight, like her lungs wouldn't open all the way.

She curled tighter, almost wanting to crush them completelty. She felt like she was suffocating. “He didn't deserve to die, Nick. He deserved better than me picking his brain like a vulture. Even after killing Nate.”

Nick’s fingers paused at her neck, digging in for a moment before retracting. Without them she felt even less grounded. A moment later she felt his jacket brush across her side as he scooted them back against the alley wall. He pulled her until she unfurled, somewhat, and leaned against him. He took his hat off and placed it on her head, dipped enough that Goodneighbor's lights were drowned out.

They sat in silence, blessedly left unbothered by any wandering junkies or thugs. The wind pricked against her skin and lazily pushed tears across her face. She'd stopped crying, for the most part. But a few still slipped out here and there.

“I don't know why I miss him.”

His head tilted at her, questioning. “Your man, or Kellogg?”

She nodded, sniffling loudly and wiping her face clean. She sat up a little straighter and smiled weakly. “Both. You know Nate and I were only married for a year? We had to, after I got knocked up. Would've destroyed my career.” A bitter laugh.

“s’That how you two met?” Nick glanced at her before bringing his hand back to her neck. She leaned forward to give him more access and spread her knees more, relaxing.

“Sex, in the park? Oh god no.” The thought made her laugh. Oh, what her mother would have done if she'd run off with a complete stranger... “When he was in the military he’d been put on trial. Ration stealing. He'd been giving extras out to civilians. I was his lawyer.”

Nick’s voice seeped into her bones, radiating approval. “He sounds like a good man. It takes courage to stand up to your boss like that.”

“Yeah, he was.” Jordan thumbed the place where her ring used to be; the tanline was still prominent, even in the dark. Both hers and Nate's were locked in a box back in Sanctuary. “As soon as I told him, about Shaun, he asked if I wanted to get married. No hesitation.”

“I regret it.”

Nick hesitated, fingers stopping again. “Marrying him?”

The lights across from them flickered, squeaking in the wind. Somewhere across town Hancock was waiting to buy them drinks. She sighed.

“You ever been in love, Nick?”

There was another paused. She turned to look at him for the first time in ages, watching him stare up into the sky. The way he looked at it made her believe there was beauty in even the most decrepit things.

“The real Nick was. A couple of times. I remember the feeling, how it makes everything a little brighter. I might've felt it, once or twice, since waking up in those ruins. But whose to say its real and not some reflection of a long dead detective?”

There was more to it, she knew. But it wasn't a wound to be opened there. Not when she couldn't even handle herself. She'd ask - again, another time when she could really be there for him.

“And you? Did you love him?”

She looked at him. The guilt lacing her blood had ebbed away into a dull ache. Her eyes went glassy. “No, Nick. I didn't.”

He nodded.

She leaned back against the cool brick and cried. Let that poisonous feeling pour out of her until she felt lighter. Until every last drop of resentment and agony was burned out of her. She sat, wrapped in her partner's arms, feeling more alive than she ever had. 


End file.
